Grandpa and the Pool Table

This past weekend I taught my girlfriend, who recently got a pool table (billiards), the basics of playing pool. She caught on right away, and she'll be beating her grown sons in no time!

Grandpa Backhus had a 9-foot championship-size pool table in his basement. The story goes that he discovered it in his Uncle Herman's barn in Califon, NJ. It became his, he refurbished it, and he suddenly had a good recreation room in his basement. He installed a bar and put a piano down there, too. When I was about 5 or 6, he started to teach  me how to play, one step at a time. I used a small cue stick that was for tight shots, but he told me it was made especially for little kids like me.

He taught me how to apply chalk to the stick and why, curl my index finger around the stick, but not too tightly, and to balance my other fingers on the table for support. Hitting the cue ball into any ball was the first step. Then hitting the ball you intended was the next step. Sinking a ball on a straightline into a side pocket was the next and finally moving to angle shots. It was a years-long process, I'm sure, as my brain developed to understand the geometry behind the game.

As you can imagine, at 6 years old, I was too short to be that effective, so Grandpa had a stool for me. When it was my turn, I simply moved my stool from place to place and took my shots. He taught me early on how to use the bridge (something to lean the stick on when you can't stretch that far), because I'd needed it often back then. And it was a great day when I could play a whole game without scratching (sinking the cue ball when it wasn't supposed to go in). It was an even better day when I could win a game. I'm sure, however, I didn't really ever win against him, my father, or my uncle. It was fun thinking I did, though!

Am I that good? Oh no, but I can hold my own in most games played by ordinary people. As a high schooler, our town recreation hall where the teenagers hung out had a pool table. Back then it was regarded as more of a man's game, so the boys made it clear they didn't really want me to play, which annoyed me. So, I'd wait my turn, and on my first few shots, I'd act a bit uncoordinated and get the, "See? You're a girl" comments. That was my "cue" to just clean up and leave them in the dust. You see, none of them knew that I had a Grandpa who didn't think I was "just a girl." He taught me all tricks I could absorb and how to hustle anyone who made fun of me.
Thanks, Grandpa.